


You

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is a nerd, M/M, Scott is a Bad Friend, and in love with Stiles, even if he denies it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: Listening to one another and believing in each other didn’t mean they always saw eye to eye. Most of the time, Stiles and Derek were on completely different ends of the spectrum. They always had each other’s backs, but it didn’t mean they were always in agreement.This, though? This was different. This was Stiles completely disregarding Derek’s words. This was Stiles acting like Derek didn’t know any better, like he was just being stupid or selfish. This was Stiles like Derek had never seen him before.Derek knew something was wrong.





	You

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Derek didn’t understand what was happening anymore. He didn’t remember when things had turned into this giant cesspool of deceit and lies and mistrust. He didn’t think things used to be this way, but perhaps one too many kicks to the dirt had turned them all into people who would never listen to anyone else.

But Derek knew of one person who would always, _always_  listen to him. He knew that there was one person he could always count on, no matter what. In return, he made the same deal. If Stiles told him something, Derek listened.

When Jennifer had abducted the Sheriff, Derek had listened. When Derek had been dying and told Stiles to save Scott, Stiles had listened.

It was an agreement they had come to. An unspoken rule they had both agreed to abide by.

Which was why Derek knew something was wrong.

Listening to one another and believing in each other didn’t mean they always saw eye to eye. Most of the time, Stiles and Derek were on completely different ends of the spectrum. They always had each other’s backs, but it didn’t mean they were always in agreement.

This, though? This was different. This was Stiles completely disregarding Derek’s words. This was Stiles acting like Derek didn’t know any better, like he was just being stupid or selfish. This was Stiles like Derek had never seen him before.

Derek knew something was wrong.

He tried talking to Scott, but he didn’t listen. He insisted, quite angrily, “Don’t you think I’d have noticed if something was wrong with my _best_  friend?”

No. Derek didn’t think he would.

He’d spoken to Lydia, but she’d dismissed him just as easily, “He’s a little weird, but a lot’s been going on. Don’t get all pouty because he’s not crawling after you like a loyal puppy.”

Every single person he spoke to didn’t see it. Even the Sheriff—to be fair, he was working a lot, so him Derek could forgive.

But the fact remained: This wasn’t Stiles.

Nobody would listen to him. It was like screaming into the void, shouting at nothing and no one. So Derek did the only thing he could think to do.

He kidnapped him, and he locked him away in a dank, dark room in the tunnels beneath the old Hale house, and he left not-Stiles there to rot.

Seventeen hours, he waited. That was how long it took before his resolve began to crumble. Before any trail he tried to follow turned cold and he was left with the deep, overwhelming fear that Stiles Stilinski was gone and was never coming back.

That was when he finally descended the stairs and pushed into the room that held not-Stiles.

It had the audacity to look scared, turning big, brown eyes on Derek and managing to get tears to form. Its heartbeat raced for a few seconds, began to slow, and then kicked up in speed again. Anxiety leaked from every pore and if Derek hadn’t known Stiles better than he knew himself, he might have thought he was wrong.

But he wasn’t wrong. And he was going to find Stiles.

“Derek,” not-Stiles insisted, voice tight and scared, “Derek, what is this? What are you doing? You have to let me go!” Not-Stiles was tugging at the chains keeping it bound in place. Derek didn’t know what it was, so chains were safer than ropes.

“Drop the act,” Derek snarled, more of the wolf in his voice than he’d intended. “Where’s Stiles?”

“What are you _talking_ about?!” Its voice rose slightly, panic creeping in along the edges. “Derek, _I’m_  Stiles! This is crazy!”

“You’re not,” Derek said calmly, eying him critically and crossing his arms while moving closer. “You look like him. You sound like him. You smell like him. To a degree, you even act like him. You may have fooled the others, but you haven’t fooled me.”

“Der—”

He moved quickly, getting right into not-Stiles’ face and roaring. It caused not-Stiles to jump and shrink away, terror in every inch of its features. Derek narrowed his eyes and straightened, crossing his arms once more.

“Where’s Stiles?”

“I _told_  you,” not-Stiles insisted desperately, “I’m—”

“You flinched.”

That shut it up.

“Stiles knows me. He knows I wouldn’t hurt him. He knows that even now, if we were together in this room, I wouldn’t hurt him if he could prove who he was. He wouldn’t sit there and insist he was Stiles, he would get mad, get smart. He would tear me apart from the inside to prove who he was, and then beat me up afterwards for daring to think it wasn’t truly him.” Derek left out the fact that Stiles would badly injure _himself_  trying to hurt _him_ , but not-Stiles wouldn’t care about that anyway.

He leaned forward once more, bracing both hands on either armrest and letting blue bleed into his eyes, growling low in his throat while staring at not-Stiles.

“I ask again: Where. Is. Stiles?”

For a few seconds, it looked as though not-Stiles was going to keep up the ruse, try harder, insist that Derek had _scared_  it. It must’ve seen something in Derek’s face because it let out a sigh and instantly, the anxious smell left it, its heart rate slowed, and the fear and anger in its face disappeared.

It sent a chill down Derek’s spine, because it so resembled the Nogitsune in that moment. But the Nogitsune had been _inside_  Stiles, and this... this was different. This wasn’t Stiles in any way, shape or form.

“So close,” not-Stiles said. “Everyone believed me. Daddy, Scotty, Lyds. Everyone.” Its gaze hardened, looking up at Derek angrily. “Everyone but _you_. Why is that? Did I miscalculate? Are you fucking him?”

Derek almost flinched at that.

Almost.

He narrowed his eyes at not-Stiles and tightened his grip on the armrests of the chair, hearing the wood cracking beneath his hands. “What are you?”

“A Therianthrope,” not-Stiles said. Derek said nothing and it rolled its eyes at him. “Shapeshifter.”

“I know what a Therianthrope is,” Derek snarled. “But from my experience, your kind usually has a reason for doing this, and as far as I can tell, you don’t. You also don’t stick around longer than a few days, and it’s been much longer than that.”

There was an explosive sigh, the thing in front of him wearing Stiles’ face conceding defeat. “Look, wolfman. I got into some trouble with a bunch of Vamps a little ways south.” Hearing the way this thing used Stiles’ face and voice was making his skin crawl, because every word out of his mouth was so _not_  Stiles that it made him angry just looking at it. “They wanted to gut me on account of my having killed one of theirs by accident. Total misunderstanding.” It shrugged. “Came around this way and some kid coming down the road in a Jeep saw me struggling on the shoulder. I didn’t _mean_  to end up with a bunch of wolves, it’s not my fault he’s the only kind-hearted soul who stopped to help me.”

Derek’s hand shot out, wrapping thin fingers around the Shapeshifter’s neck and squeezing. “Where. Is. He?”

“Relax,” the thing forced out. “He’s fine. I mean, he was when I saw him last, but I’ve been in this hole for a while. How long can humans last without food or water?”

Turning abruptly, Derek grabbed at the keys for the cuffs and undid them, keeping a hold of one of the Shapeshifter’s arms while doing so and wrenching it to its feet.

“Bring me to him. Now.”

“Fine, fine.” The Shapeshifter rolled its eyes, which were slowly starting to lose Stiles’ colour. They were beginning to bleed white, turning inhuman. Derek hated seeing them so he forced himself to keep an eye on where they were going, shoving the thing ahead of him through the door, still holding its wrist, and then trailing it up the stairs.

They had just exited the house when Scott pulled up, climbing out of his mother’s car and eying them in confusion.

“Scotty!” not-Stiles shouted, panic in its voice. “Scotty, Derek’s gone insane! He thinks I’m not me! You gotta help me!”

Derek cursed, and was about to retreat into the house with the Shapeshifter, but Scott hadn’t moved. He was just standing beside the car, wide-eyed and panicked, and it took a few seconds for Derek to figure out why.

Not-Stiles still had white eyes. Even Scott knew this wasn’t him.

“What is that?” Scott asked, voice strained. “Where’s Stiles?”

Not-Stiles was startled, but then cursed and slapped its forehead with one hand, turning to grin at Derek, eyes now pure white. “Whoopsies. I forgot Stiles has real people eyes. Or at least he did, last I saw him.”

“Shut up,” Derek snarled, shoving at the Shapeshifter and leading the way to his car.

Scott tagged along without invitation, but Derek didn’t care. It meant someone to keep hold of the thing in the back seat while they drove to where it told them it had first met Stiles. They parked on the shoulder, and Derek took over breaking the thing’s wrist, walking through the forest with Scott growling angrily behind him.

Derek was pissed he’d even shown up. _Derek_  was the one who’d known it wasn’t Stiles. The others had been too stupid to figure it out. And now that they would be finding the _real_  Stiles, Scott was probably going to get the glory.

Not that Derek cared about glory, he just hated that Stiles would never know that the only person who knew him, _truly_  knew him, was Derek.

“Ow, ow!” The Shapeshifter punched Derek in the arm. “Loosen the grip, would you? I ain’t human, but I’m also not a wolf.”

“Shut up and walk,” Derek snarled.

They were further into the woods by now, and when they reached a cave, not-Stiles motioned it emphatically. Derek narrowed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He didn’t smell Stiles, but it had been a while since he’d noticed something was off. It was possible the scent outside the cave had faded.

“Wait here,” Derek ordered, shoving not-Stiles at Scott.

He could tell the Alpha wanted to argue, but Derek didn’t have time for him. He hadn’t believed Derek, so his opinion right now meant dick all.

Crouching slightly and picking his way cautiously through the rubble, Derek moved further into the cave, inhaling shallowly as he went. It smelled foul, like excrements and decay. He tried not to think too much on why that concerned him and continued forward.

He didn’t know how deep the cave went, but he’d only been moving for a few minutes before he rounded a corner and found Stiles sitting propped up against the cave wall, eyes closed, knees drawn up, and arms resting lightly against them.

He had manacles around his wrists, and while Derek couldn’t see where they disappeared to, they were obviously strong enough to keep him there.

There were bottles of water and food wrappers littering the area around him, and his clothes were filthy and torn. He smelled like a sewer and looked almost as bad.

When Derek shifted closer, Stiles’ eyes snapped open and locked on him.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. They just stared at one another.

Then, Stiles grinned, letting his arms drop and crossing his legs beneath him. “Hey Sourwolf. If anyone was gonna find me, I knew it’d be you.”

Hearing him say that made Derek’s chest ache for some reason, and he moved forward cautiously, looking around for any danger. A part of him was worried this wasn’t Stiles at all, that it was just another Shapeshifter, but Derek knew that they couldn’t kill who they impersonated and two Shapeshifters couldn’t impersonate the same person. This was Stiles.

If the thing outside wasn’t, this _had_  to be.

“Are you okay?” he asked gruffly, working at the manacles until he managed to get them off. Stiles’ wrists were rubbed raw, but they didn’t look as bad as they could’ve.

“Better now. Shapey’s not been too much of a dick to me, but I really missed my bed. And my shower.” His face fell. “I probably smell like shit.”

“And other things,” Derek said.

Stiles shoved him hard, but he was grinning. He moved stiffly, heading out of the cave with Derek behind him, but he seemed to be in pretty good spirits for someone who’d been chained up for the better part of two weeks.

It was sad when Derek realized he was probably so used to this kind of shit it didn’t even affect him anymore.

“Stiles!”

Scott had abandoned his post and raced forward to hug his friend, despite the smell. Derek made it out in time to stop the Shapeshifter from running off on them still wearing Stiles’ face.

“Shiftey,” Stiles said, almost formally, while looking at not-Stiles.

“Stiles,” the other said, letting out an explosive sigh and turning white eyes on Derek. “Look, I still have some very angry Vamps after me, can I go now? I promise to stay out of your precious little town.”

Derek’s grip tightened and the Shapeshifter winced.

“Wait,” Stiles said, stumbling over to them with Scott on his heels, looking worried his friend was going to fall over. “You told me before that running isn’t your forte. Couldn’t you just hang out here until the Vamps get bored?”

“What?” Scott asked incredulously.

“Dude, he’s like, the nicest bad thing I’ve ever met,” Stiles insisted, motioning not-Stiles, who beamed with pride. “He brought me curly fries. _Curly fries_ , Scott. He truly cares. You know, for a face-stealing monster.”

Derek didn’t like it. Scott also didn’t like it. It was obvious to everyone that nobody liked it. But, this was Stiles, and he looked so damn hopeful, and not-Stiles was giving him puppy-eyes while still managing to look completely terrifying with white eyes.

“We’ll bring him to Deaton,” he snapped, more irritated than he’d intended to sound. “But if you _ever_  impersonate Stiles again,” he pointed an angry finger in the Shapeshifter’s face, “you will not live to regret it.”

“Damn,” not-Stiles insisted. “If I’d known you were that sexually frustrated, I’d have let you fuck me ages ago. Not my fault I didn’t know he was your boyfriend.”

Stiles choked behind him. Scott went absolutely still. Derek convinced himself that murdering this _thing_  would upset Stiles.

This was going to be a long car ride back into town.

**END.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> According to my friend, I write too much angst?


End file.
